


Seeking Solace

by AndreaLyn



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are bound to happen. An AU: Robert Chase never finished medical school, but he finished seminary and still wound up at PPTH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking Solace

“Meet me in the chapel.”  
  
Brisk words are all Robert receives from this Dr. Cameron about a patient requesting last rites from a Catholic priest in the area. The deacon has been off on a retreat and the presiding priest is off visiting the bishop about the current financial state of the diocese. So the task falls to the wandering priest.   
  
Robert enters Princeton-Plainsboro with anticipation that borders on fear and it serves to give him wary chills about this institution.   
  
“Oh, good.”  
  
Robert looks up to find a middle-aged doctor staring at him as though he’s brought them water and bread after forty days in the desert. He’s been rediscovering Exodus and finding new, hidden things that he’s just learned he likes when before, the Old Testament was just a script to get through. The trials of tribulation of an entire people has meaning to him now, more meaning than the Prodigal Son, certainly.  
  
“I’m Dr. Wilson, you must be Father Smythe?”  
  
“Actually, Father Smythe is meeting with the bishop,” Robert apologies with a beatific smile, something that they do not practice, though Robert thinks they should. You had to be able to trust a priest to lead you through the fire and come out unharmed. Perhaps doctors understand this, because Dr. Wilson gives him a beatific smile in return and ushers him towards the chapel. “I’m Father Chase, they sent me instead.”  
  
“It’s a tricky case. She was healing, then failing, then dying, then recovering,” Dr. Wilson makes small talk by offering an explanation.   
  
“She’s back to dying again?” Robert ventures.   
  
Dr. Wilson presses his lips together and the man does do sympathy  _well_. “It’s an infarction in the patient’s leg, that means…”  
  
“A stroke,” Robert concludes with a wry smirk. “Didn’t diagnose it quickly enough? Maybe got to her too late and now that you’ve exhausted all the other options, the toxins are back in her system and are going to kill her?”  
  
Dr. Wilson looks impressed. “She refuses further surgery. She’s older, without family, just got fired from her job. She used to coach volleyball, but now…well, now she can’t walk. She wants to die.” They walk down the halls. “How do you know so much?”  
  
“I’m Father Robert  _Chase_ ,” is all he has to say and it suddenly dawns on Dr. Wilson. “I figured you’d recognize it by now.”  
  
“Heard the accent, thought it out of place for Jersey. There are stories about you, you know,” Dr. Wilson remarks, almost sounding more interested in Robert than he is in himself. “I heard you had a perfect GPA halfway through your second year of med school and then one day, out of nowhere, you quit and went on a spiritual retreat.”  
  
Robert smirks, glancing down at the collar. “It worked, didn’t it?”  
  
Dr. Wilson laughs warmly, holding the chapel doors open. “I guess it did. That’s Dr. Cameron. She’s waiting to prep you for the horror that is House.”  
  
Robert frowns and wants to ask him to clarify, but Dr. Wilson is off as Robert supposes busy doctors are prone to do and he is left with a woman in the second pew of the chapel, looking more a mourner than a doctor. He approaches cautiously, checking to see whether she is in prayer and when it simply appears that her posture is the criminal, he increases his pace and stands beside her.  
  
“Praying for forgiveness?” he ventures.  
  
She looks up at him and gives him a genuinely warm smile. “Patience.” She glances up. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about the case, Father…” She stresses the  _Father_  and immediately, Robert can pick up the faint traces of someone who never believed in God’s good works to begin with. “…but it’s bringing up some really personal demons in my boss. And now she wants her Last Rites, so…I mean, she’s getting along in terms of her physical and mental state both…”  
  
Robert narrows his eyes as they walk. “You think the patient is delusional just because she wants her Last Rites?” he queries, picking up that much from the disdain in Dr. Cameron’s voice, like Last Rites isn’t something to be considered, like every patient’s life is saved at the last minute.   
  
“I never believed in God,” Dr. Cameron apologizes as they stop outside a glass-walled office. Inside, there is a sour-looking man watching the television and chewing on something that looks like candy.  
  
Robert turns and gives her a sympathetic smile. “It’s terrible not to believe in anything.”  
  
“I have belief,” Dr. Cameron stubbornly insists. “I just…don’t believe in  _God_ ,” she says specifically.   
  
She’s set him up so that he’s too curious to do anything but pry. “What do you believe in, then?” he asks gently, a voice he saves for the confessions of troubled souls, people who have no faith or hope left.   
  
Dr. Cameron gives him an odd smile, like she can’t believe she’s saying it. “Dr. House,” she replies, gesturing to the room. “He’s in there. He’ll take you to the patient, but really, be careful. He will say anything and everything just to throw you off balance. Especially these days.” She opens the door to guide him inside before she leaves, apparently too eager to be somewhere else.  
  
“Forgive me, Father, for I have…” the man they call Dr. House begins in a sing-song voice before he turns. “Well, I thought they were sending a priest, not a stripper in a priest’s outfit.”  
  
Robert smirks. “You know, I heard you once went to a convention where you wound up offending every last person there except for Doctor Wilson and my father. And the only reason my father wasn’t offended was because he’d arrived late and was glad that someone else was in the spotlight.” He takes steps inside, hands folded over a rosary. “I’m here to perform Last Rites and then I’ll be gone.”  
  
“Your father?” Dr. House inquires curiously, glancing up at Robert. “I’ve met a priest  _before_? Cool.”  
  
Robert suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “The calling towards God doesn’t exactly run in the family.”  
  
“Sure doesn’t, Chase.”  
  
“Father Chase,” Robert corrects.  
  
“Nah,” Dr. House shrugs. “I like Chase better. All right, let’s walk. I’ve got a patient to save.” The last part is said with more somber seriousness than had befitted his entire introduction. Dr. Cameron had made mention to there being personal connections. Perhaps Dr. House was vicariously saving this patient. The last thing he could do. Though, if she’s asking for Last Rites, his vicarious saving must not be going so well.  
  
Dr. House stands outside the sliding glass door of a hospital room.   
  
“Aren’t you going to come in?” Robert asks, dubious as to why he had just  _stopped_ , like there’s some form of invisible barrier. Dr. House shakes his head, staring inside at the woman and the Doctor – a young, red-haired woman; quite beautiful – and glances down. “Doctor House?” Robert inquires softly, turning and resting one hand gently on his forearm.  
  
“You’re touching me, Chase,” Dr. House smirks. “I’ll have to report you to the bishop.”  
  
“Would you like to confide in me later?” Robert persists, not letting the wall stop him. He’s dealt with worse; Robert needs only recall the gaggle of old ladies who could not quite understand that priests didn’t date and had proceeded to try and set him up on horrifically matched dates.   
  
Dr. House glares. “I don’t need confiding.”  
  
“I never said you did. I asked,” Robert smoothly replies. “And my offer will stand until I leave the hospital. Your staff is con…”  
  
“Cameron is concerned,” Dr. House interrupts, narrowing his eyes. “Should have known. Dr. Cameron believes that I can do no wrong, that whatever I say is prophecy and…”  
  
“She thinks you’re God.”  
  
Dr. House simply grins and tips his head to the side. “Aren’t you penguins always wanting to meet me?”  
  
“Nuns typically resemble penguins,” Robert weakly protests as he steps inside the room, a room that Dr. House dares not follow him inside. He clears his throat, but only gets the attention of one of the two people inside the room. It’s the beautiful doctor, who immediately hurries over to his side, reaching one hand over the foot of the bed.  
  
She smiles. “Hi,” she whispers. “I’m Doctor Petra Gilmar. I’m the lead on this case.” She turns back to the bed, smiling sadly. “My youngest brother helped coach with her. Then one day at practice, she just went down and started howling in pain. Never good.” Robert smiles. “Should I let you get to it?” She gestures between him and the patient, narrowing her eyes.   
  
“It will take a moment to set up, but privacy would be best,” he acknowledges. He carries a chair to the side of the bed and his skin prickles with the vague knowledge that he is being watched, turns to find her staring at him with her arms crossed. “Was there something else?”   
  
“Aren’t you a little young and pretty to be a priest?” she asks bluntly.   
  
Robert laughs, having heard that before. “You should join my Father’s club,” he lightly replies, taking out his rosary and his bible – wonders briefly if Dr. House would avert his eyes if he held it up to him – and setting them down. “He always thought I should be a doctor.”  
  
“Whole different worlds,” Dr. Gilmar comments. “Maybe you’d be happier if you’d listened to him?”  
  
“Who says I’m not happy now?” Robert asks in confusion.  
  
Dr. Gilmar simply shrugs and gestures with a perfectly manicured hand. “Your face. Your eyes. Like you’re going through the motions. Like there’s nothing waiting for you at the end of the tunnel and you know it. You look hopeless,” she finishes and lays it out on the line.  
  
Robert takes a deep breath. “I have faith,” he replies curtly. “And that’s all I need.”  
  
“Faith,” she echoes. “Okay.”  
  
*  
  
“Father Chase?”   
  
It’s a new voice that comes to collect him like a wayward sheep when dusk falls. Robert turns in his seat, in the midst of a Hail Mary to find a polite-looking man smiling at him. “I’m Doctor Foreman,” he introduces himself, sliding the door quietly shut. “I just came to check on her vitals and meet you. The whole hospital is gossiping about the newest commodity on the property.”  
  
“Honestly,” Robert sighs. “I’m a priest. We’re quite off the market.”  
  
He’s nearing the end, the blessing. His thumb trembles slightly as he blesses her forehead, the sign of the cross made and the Latin uttered as he eases back and closes his eyes tightly. It’s out of his hands now and in God’s hands. Dr. Gilmar’s words echo in him from before, resonating through terrible memories. He’s always doubted that he had faith, deep down. Is it so easily seen?  
  
“I really admire guys like you,” Dr. Foreman is saying, jotting down a few notes. “Always had more of a drive, I figure. The dedication, the isolation, the chastity,” he chuckles and Robert laughs weakly along with him. “So, you done?”  
  
“Yeah,” Robert murmurs, tucking his things away. “Think I’m heading off.”  
  
“Dr. House wanted to see you before you left, by the way, so just drop by. He’ll be here a while trying to figure out some Hail Mary pass.” Dr. Foreman pauses and glances back. “No pun intended,” he winces, like he’s done something wrong. Robert gives him an appreciative smile and leaves the room like he had never been there.  
  
*  
  
He finds Dr. House in the foyer of the hospital, twirling his cane and sitting on one of the chairs designated for the patients.   
  
“Are you supposed to be sitting there?” Robert asks dubiously.   
  
House stares up, just as dubiously. “My leg hurts,” he retorts. “So, why priesthood?”  
  
“I had faith,” Robert answers, noting that even he refers to faith in the past tense. He’s hopeless, honestly. “I’m finished with your patient. Won’t hang around seeing as you don’t seem to want anyone to talk to.” He’s not sure why he’s so disappointed. He should have known as much.  
  
“Good,” House snaps briefly. “How did you enjoy meeting Petra?”  
  
“Dr. Gilmar? She’s…unique.”  
  
Dr. House grins, like Robert is thinking on his wavelength and Robert pauses to contemplate how very  _terrifying_  a thing that is. “Almost didn’t hire her. She was too sassy for her own good in the interview.”  
  
“So, why did you hire her?”  
  
“Her shoes. A woman willing to take that much pain is perfect for my work environment.”  
  
Robert stares at Dr. House and Dr. House stares back and Robert wills him to say something, anything about opening up. A man like that, a man such as Dr. Gregory House needs counsel like the rest of humanity, but he doesn’t seem able to accept it. Robert clears his throat, taking a step towards the door, clutching the Bible closer to his vestments.  
  
“I should be…”  
  
Dr. House stands swiftly; Robert can see it from the corner of his eye. “Your father’s dying, Robert.”  
  
Robert stops in his tracks and closes his eyes. “I know.”  
  
“Why did you become a priest, Chase?”  
  
“I had more faith in God than I had in my father,” Robert replies tersely, gritting his teeth together. It’s not the best reason, hell, it’s not even a  _good_  reason. Dr. House crosses in front of him, a serious look on his face. “This is hardly what I had in mind when I said talking.”  
  
“You would have been a good doctor. I’ve seen your transcripts,” Dr. House remarks.  
  
“You…wh…”  
  
“Your father is dying of cancer and you should go see him,” Dr. House continues, like he plays his own little twisted and pathetic role in family dramas like this all the time. All Robert wants to do is spit in his face and shout that he knows nothing about his life. Instead, he stands there, paralyzed by fear and the numbness that spreads all over. “Chase…”  
  
“No.”  
  
Dr. House frowns, tips his head to the side and grins. Dr. House must be so very used to hearing that word and subverting it.   
  
“No, Doctor House,” Robert says, gathering his strength. “I came here to offer Last Rites. I came here to give someone peace of mind, not to find it for myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mass to lead.”  
  
“Sheep,” Dr. House remarks. “That’s all they are.”  
  
Robert turns in the doorway. “Your doctors? Foreman, Cameron, Gilmar? They’re sheep too. And you’re a shepherd in your own right. You’ve even got the cane,” he mutters. He gives a brisk nod. “Please tell the others it was very nice to meet them. And Greg? My father admired you as a doctor. I honestly can’t begin to see where he got that from.”  
  
Robert walks away without ever looking back.  
  
*  
  
Three months later at the funeral, Dr. House meets Father Robert Chase once more.  
  
His vestments are gone.  
  
“Just Rob Chase now,” he mumbles to mourners offering their condolences. House watches it all with an intrigued eye as Chase seemingly works this like a professional, shaking hands and murmuring platitudes.   
  
“Whatever will you do with yourself now, Robert?” a griever inquires sadly.   
  
Chase catches House’s gaze briefly, the briefest of seconds. “I suppose there’s always finishing med school to consider.” House can’t stop the smirk that’s slowly appearing on his face. He loves it when he’s right, loves it more than anything. It’s lucky, then, that he’s right all the time and that being arrogant is a normal, every-day Housian aspect.  
  
The former Father Robert Chase will be a damn good doctor in the making when he finishes the last two years of med school and then specializes. It’ll be about four years. Four years is long enough to  _really_  study someone. House has a feeling he’ll need to make sure he’s got a position ready and waiting for graduation day.  
  
Four years to go. That’s fourteen hundred and sixty days to think up some good priest jokes.  
  
THE END


End file.
